Something to Celebrate
by Paradoxalpoised
Summary: Henry, who still doesn't remember his mother, has a special favor to ask of Regina, a couple weeks after Neal's funeral. He manages to enlist her into making Emma a special birthday dinner.


**Summary | **Henry, who still doesn't remember his mother, has a special favor to ask of Regina, a couple weeks after Neal's funeral. He manages to enlist her into making Emma a special birthday dinner.

**Setting |** Events in this story are situated around S03E16, but some events are loosely canon.

**Rating & Warning | **This story is **rated T.**

**Disclaimer | ** All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.

* * *

"It's my mom's birthday." Henry is sitting across from her at the dinner. "She always makes sure mine is cool." They've finished lunch a while ago. They're _'hanging out'_. Crumbs.

It's October the 22nd. It's cold. It's Emma's birthday. She knows it very well because that's the day she woke up in Storybrooke for the first time, October 22nd 1983. The Day Emma was born, stuffed into a wardrobe and abandoned with Pinocchio on the side of a road in Maine. There's that. It's also the day that two years ago Henry brought the Savior back to Storybrooke.

Emma would give him _'cool'_ birthdays. She knows that too. Regina didn't consciously think of making Emma give Henry great birthday parties. She thought of how incredible it had been for her to celebrate Henry's birthdays. That and not transforming Emma into someone she's not.

Giving someone new memories, two someones actually, is a tricky business. The memories have to be… agreeable to the person remembering them or they will glitch, for lack of a better term. Regina could not have given Emma and Henry new memories if she hadn't known them well. That's why she knows, although the idiots don't, that she did not make the people of Storybrooke the way they had been until the curse broke. The curse followed her conscious will to a point but used her subconscious, at best, for most traits. For the rest, she's certain the curse was designed to put the people from a geographic radius through a form of magical algorithm she did not write in, as she did not design this curse herself, which made them who they were. Not that she's completely mastered the concept, yet, nor is she about to admit to it.

They want her evil anyway.

"She's sad because he's dead." He's looking at her with the eyes of the son she raised. Smart, observant, full of love and not at all fooled by what's going on around him. He's indulging the adults who are bouncing him around like he's some ping pong ball to protect him from a truth he can taste on the tip of his tongue, on the tip of his mind and certainly knows it is being hidden from him. Poorly.

"Your father died, she once loved him and you were born of that love." His beautiful dark eyes, which make her think of her own father's eyes when she knows it to be impossible. "It's natural that she's sad, Henry."

"But I'm not." His eyes which are Emma's. "And I want to do something for her, so she's not sad anymore."

"You didn't know your father, Henry, it's normal-"

"I don't feel bad." He does that now, interrupt her, and others too. He wouldn't have before. She wonders how much of it is Emma's parenting and how much of it is Henry being an adolescent. "I mean," he means he thinks he should feel bad but he doesn't because the teenager before her never knew his father and doesn't know to love him. "I am sad that I'll never get to know my father and I'm sad that Neal's dead… it's just he… he wasn't my dad."

"You're sad that your mother is suffering."

She should be sad that her son will never know more of his father than what he already has, and forgot. She should be sad that the man who could have been a brother in their loathing and resisting the darkness oozing from the monster who somehow raised them both in his own ways is no more. Her kin.

She's not sad.

"What do you need from me, Henry?"

He smirks, just a little. His eyes are all hers too.

It's her day to babysit him, while the other look for Zelena. Absurd.

Henry needs to know the truth. He needs to be told. He needs to be protected. Because if anyone is still thinking her son isn't already sneaking around their business to figure out the truth on his own, they simply don't know him. Emma should know better. She's indulging her fantasy that when the threat is over, she can run off again. To this life Regina gave her that must feel so much better. The life she herself might not have left for these people she's called family longer than Emma has. Home.

"Can you help me make her feel like we're away from all this, like we're back home for her birthday?"

"You want _me_ to help you do that?"

"You owe her."

"Do I?" She's raised an eyebrow. He's being gutsy, or presumptuous. She's not sure which one to choose but he's at least being manipulative. That won't do.

"You hurt her." He swallows. It's audible enough that they both notice it.

Her eyebrow is still raised. His eyes are Emma's again. From when she does that puppy thing and looks at her. He should learn to pick fights with someone his own size. She raised him better than that, but Charming's genes in his blood are sapping all her hard work.

"My mom didn't come back here for my dad, or for a job." He's confident. He knows something she doesn't. "I'm not blind you know?"

"You are a smart boy, Henry." She wants him to tell her more.

"She certainly didn't come back here for that dude who dresses like a pirate and thinks he's gonna get in my mom's pants because he took me out on his boat."

She actually chuckles. Because, really?

"She was with Walsh for eight months, and even when he asked her to marry him, she never looked at him like she looks at you."

Of course she isn't asked about parenting decisions these days, obviously she's not needed anymore, but Hook? How safe does Em- wait, what?

"Pardon me?"

"I don't know what went on between you and my mom, or more like, I don't know when it happened, but if she looks at you like that and she actually left you here…" If his emphasis on _'here'_ isn't clear enough, his eye roll makes limpid what he thinks of the town. "You must have really messed up."

"I did not mess anything up, young man." The words leave her lips faster than her mind commands them not too. She even manages to sound petulant and get flushed at the thought of what he's implying between Emma and herself.

It's his turn to chuckle.

She stands and makes for the door.

"Hey… wait!" She opens it, and walks down the front steps. "Please…"

She stops at the end of that little walkway, much like she had done before with Emma after she had come back through the well.

"I'm sorry." He sounds contrite, but she knows better. Two can play the game.

"Why are you sorry?" She makes sure he's looking her in the eye and not blinking an eyelash.

"I was rude, and I… I don't know your and my mom's history together, I shouldn't use it against you."

She turns around and starts walking again, making a left on main street.

"Wait!" She hears his steps quickly catching up to her. "Where are you going?"

"To the grocery store."

His hand brushes hers. She can't help but smile. She doesn't need to look to know he's smiling too. God how good it hurts to love him again. To be able to love him and do the simple things that bring him happiness.

They get to the store and he pushes the cart. He's observing her as she picks items down the isles. Basil, sun dried tomatoes, cherry tomatoes, olive oil, pine nuts, a block of parmesan, ham from Parma. Actually from Parma, just like the parmesan is from Sicily and the oil from Provence, along with the sun dried tomatoes. They have refined épicerie sections in Storybrooke, she made sure of it. She picks up flours, and brown sugars, eggs, Valrhona chocolate, the milk variety because she knows Emma doesn't like her chocolate too dark, and a large bar of jijona turrón. It comes directly from Jijona, to the north of Alicante.

Imagine her surprise when she realized that in this world too they have discovered turrón de almendra suave. Her father's favorite and the only one Regina ever liked. He sometimes enjoyed it with anís estrellado but only at fall, when the anise stars had dried from the only evergreen tree that would grow on their land. He had to trade the spice with the few boats from Tianxia that ever made it up the river some years when the tree wouldn't want to share its pods.

She gets cinnamon last, the true one from Sri Lanka, in thin barks. Its fragrance is potent, even through the plastic of the sealed bag supposed to protect the spice.

"That smells really good." Henry has his nose on the bag in her hand, looking up at her like she's his very own fairy godmother. "What are you making?"

"We are making pizza, and chocolate fondant."

"Like in New York." He's grinning.

"I suppose." She would have smirked to anyone else. To him she grins back.

It's only for him and because he's forgiven. There's no one in the baking section anyway.

He thanks her when they're in the Benz and insists on carrying all of the grocery bags to the kitchen for her.

When he comes back to the parlor, with the last bag, he stops and sets it down. He takes his shoes off, puts them exactly where she has spent twelve years telling him to. He shakes off his coat, opens the coat closet door before she can react and puts it on his favorite hook on his coat rack, next to the other three coats which belong to him. He's not fazed, picks up his grocery bag and throws her a "You coming?" over his shoulder on his way to the kitchen he already knew where to find.

The coats must be too small for him now.

He sits on his stool at the kitchen island. She gets that gut wrenching feeling that if she let him do it, he'd pick up his favorite glass from the glass cabinet to have the organic apple juice he likes best which is sitting unopened in the refrigerator.

They need to tell him. His consciousness doesn't remember, but his subconscious does. Call it residual memory or body memory or whatever names for it could be found in the modern world.

He remembers. He's hers. He knows it.

She gives him a glass of juice in his favorite glass nevertheless.

"So how do we get her here?" He's all business sipping his second glass of juice because he downed the first one like it was water.

He just turned thirteen. She decides to make him a sandwich with that second glass. He's grown, his stomach with him. She hates that she missed the moment his voice started changing.

"I'll call her when it's time for her to pick you up."

"Okay, but-"

"Don't speak with your mouth full."

He swallows in one big audible gulp the piece of sandwich he hasn't even chewed and bumps his chest to help it down.

"Sorry." He's smiling again. He's not sorry, they both know it. Normally that's when she scolds him more, biting down her own amusement. Then they laugh together. "Won't they have something planned? The others I mean."

"They might. Maybe you should have planned her a party at the diner with Miss Lucas."

"Mom hates parties."

"Well we're organizing one for her right now." Her eyebrow lifts again.

"We're making her food." He takes another, smaller bite and chews it this time. "Mom loves food. It's the party in her birthday she doesn't like. It'll be okay if it's just us."

Just us.

"And awesome food." He nods his chin to the pizza dough she's already kneading. "How can I help?"

"You can pluck the leaves of that basil plant one by one and wash them for me, please."

They work in silence for a little while, he plucks and washes. Then she shows him how to roast the pine nuts. They use the blender to make a pesto for the pizza, slowly, adding the olive oil. She saves a few basil leaves to put on top of the pizza when they will be done.

They make pizza with fresh slices of mozzarella, parmigiano, Parma ham and all the deliciousness she allows him to taste with each new ingredient.

Then they get to the making the cake.

"How do you know my mom likes cinnamon with chocolate?"

She was about to say that she does because he loves cinnamon with everything chocolate, or not chocolate for that matter. She was about to say that and then have to lie to cover it up. She's not lying to her son.

"She always has, and so do you, since you were very little."

"So I was right, you know us from before, like when I was a little kid?"

"Yes, I do." She's walking a fine line.

God how tempting it is. He's gently swirling melted chocolate with butter and a dash of bourbon, as she's kneading the nougat with almond flour. There are moments in her life, in the breaths she holds, in the instants she knows the insufferable pains coming but she doesn't move away from the tip of the arrow piercing her, always more, forever more, there are moments when she knows. Moments when she can't but know how inherently and truly good she is.

She is.

She royally fucked up, you see? But with each burning breath, each aching step, each drop of blood coursing through her veins, she's alive.

She is alive.

She's not going to take from him for herself. She knows. She knows better. She doesn't give away secrets. She doesn't let go of hands for power. She doesn't give up for safety.

He's hers. He comes first. He has to know, but it has to be honorable and in love. In honest, pure, healthy love.

She is Regina Mills.

"So you and Mom, you were friends?" He's probing her. It's actually sweet how tactful he's trying to be about it.

"Not at first, no."

"So you did the love-hate kinda thing?"

"We were… confrontational."

He's smiling, more and more with each answer she's giving him. He's seeing things in his mind all children with only one parent see. He's seeing that he could have two. That he has had two. He's just not aware of the details.

"Did you spend a lot of time together?" He's looking at her expectantly, until he realizes he stopped stirring and goes right back to it with a blush, "Being friends, that is."

Friends, with Emma Swan. She gave her memories and a lifetime full of love and motherhood to replace all of the things she's been forced to do without. Friends is not a lie.

"It took a whole year for us to become friends, and you helped a lot."

"I did?" His eyes lit up with fireworks. He's forgotten about the chocolate for good this time. It's ready anyway.

She takes the bowl from him, pouring the content over the mold she's prepared, adding the thin circles of jijona turrón she's worked as separation between the layers of melting chocolate ganache they made for Emma's birthday cake.

"Yes. I'm not… I'm not very good at… I'm not very good at love." This is getting ridiculously emotional. "You facilitated our connection."

"I bet that's not true." He's got chocolate around his mouth from the spatula she let him keep. "You're pretty strict, I'll give you that, but you can't be anything but the greatest mom."

She's paused frozen with a tin full of chocolate in her hands looking at him, with his smile and his eyes which can probably take down armies. They have vanquished a Queen after all.

And he doesn't waver. He doesn't hesitate. "I don't remember much, but I've dreamed of you before." She takes a deep breath. _'Do not drop the cake.'_

She swallows. The excess of saliva, the words, the tears. The need to run to him and embrace him to her.

She puts the tin in the oven instead, following the pizza. Their afternoon has disappeared some time ago, because the sun is getting low on her maple trees in the backyard.

"You can't have." Her voice is hoarse. He has to stop. She's not strong enough for this.

"I know it's you." He steps around the island to put the spatula in the sink. Suddenly he's in front of her. "You would be a great mom. You were gonna be, weren't you?"

He's got chocolate at the corner of his mouth.

"Henry-"

"You were going to be my mom too, weren't you?"

Her hand slowly lifts itself to his face. She wipes off the chocolate there, and she cups his cheek. His warm and slightly flushed cheek, with his eyes, serious, sincere, longing almost.

"Yes." She whispers it because she can't do much more before crumbling to her knees and dying of his yearning for her love. Her love too. For him.

"Can you love us again?" He's barely looking up to her. God how tall he is. "Because we're here for you. We are. She doesn't say it, she doesn't know how. She tells me sometimes, but if she did something wrong, or you did, it's not that bad that it can't be forgiven. It's in the past. It's been a while and I know I'm bigger now and she's like… awkward, but she tries hard and… Can you love us again?"

Her other hand flies to her mouth and the big fat tears fall from her eyes. Just a couple. Her right hand is still on his cheek. His are in fists and he's vibrating. Vibrating like Emma does. He thrums. Like Emma does.

"Please?" He takes a step to her. If he takes another she's going to sob. "I know we haven't been here very long, but-"

She takes the step and wraps her son tightly in her arms. She embraces him with all the words, all the feelings, all the truth she can't yet give him, because she's not about to let him do this. This vile thing no child should ever have to do. She's not going to let him beg for love. For himself. For the mother he adores and champions for.

Their Little Prince.

He nestles his face into her neck, his cheek still on her chest, his arms around her waist. He hugs her back. The stranger in his dreams.

He sighs. His shoulders relax. She kisses his forehead. She breathes his hair. She feels his body, changed, against hers.

Soon she'll have to speak. She would promise him the moon. She would go get it for him.

The oven timer decides to let out a chiming _'ding'_ that signals the pizza should be ready.

She chuckles, and he follows suit. They part in a small but genuine laugh. She wipes her tears quickly and gets to the oven.

One large pizza resting on the marble table top later, Regina smiles to her son with all her guts, "Let's call your mother?"

"Yeah."

It only takes a few minutes of which they make good use to gather napkins, glasses and other items of dishes they'll need to serve and eat while the cake is set on the kitchen counter atop the oven so it doesn't cool too fast.

The bell rings, and they both realize they still have their aprons on. Henry hurries out first while Regina stays behind. It might be silly but she does give herself a once over in the parlor mirror. Her hair is in place, more than less. Her mascara hasn't even smudged.

Henry opens the door with her nod. He doesn't even stop for greetings.

"Come see, Mom."

Emma comes in pulled by the hand, like he's ten again. He probably forgot how unteen like his behavior is. She looks at her. Regina shrugs, she's already yielded and follows the pair to the kitchen.

"Kid, what are you-"

They're in Regina's favorite part of the house, his smile a thousand watts.

"It's just like in New York. Actually scratch that, it smells better. And wait 'til you try the cake, Mom!"

Emma is quiet. She swallows hard. Henry looks at Regina, worry growing fast in his dark, excited eyes.

"I don't… this is…" Emma is stuttering.

"We cooked and baked together for your birthday, Mom."

She doesn't want to push Emma, but Henry's heart is going to break any second now. "Henry went through a lot of trouble," she almost wants to say '_Miss Swan'_ to remind her what's at stake here, but she thinks better of it. "Emma. He was very helpful."

"We even have hot chocolate with cinnamon in it."

Emma clears her throat, "This smells really good, Kid, I'm just… surprised."

"Well duh, it was the goal, right, Regina? A surprise for Mom's birthday."

"Indeed. We should eat while the food is still hot." That'll give Miss Swan something normal to do.

"Right." She moves forth a step, hearing the sound of her shoes and the rustle of her coat. "I should take that off-"

"Here, Mom, I'll take your coat." He's got her coat and he's running to the parlor leaving Emma gaping and staring at Regina with an expression she's not quite certain how to read.

Emma looks around the kitchen, on the table, the countertop with the chocolate cake, back to her. There are tears at the corner of her eyes.

She needs to say something. "Emma-"

"I need air. Just a breath."

Emma walks past her to the kitchen glass and wooden door that gives on the patio and the back yard. Henry rushes back in and looks at her with questioning eyes she doesn't have any simple answers for.

They both turn at the sound of Emma's forehead against glass.

"Emma?"

Emma is sliding down against the patio glass door, to her knees. The sobs are not just threatening to come out.

"Henry, I need you to go to the living room, sweetheart."

"But… Mom?" He looks utterly undone to see his mother so distraught and he'll need comfort.

For now he needs to go.

"Henry, go to the living room, put the TV on, loud enough that I can hear it. Now."

He looks her in the eye with worry and hurt. She's bitten.

"I promise you that I will take care of your mother. I promise you that I will come to you and explain. I need you to do as I say and give me your word you won't listen in."

His jaw sets. He hesitates. He nods.

She nods back and as he turns around she rushes over to Emma, grabbing the soft hand cloth on the kitchen island on her way. She kneels by her side. Emma is sobbing loudly, her forehead to the glass. She's biting her right fist, her left hand is spread on the glass above her forehead.

"Emma…" She's not certain what to do. Well she knows what Emma needs, she's just not confident that she's… qualified. "Emma…" She whispers it this time. She's trying to think of what to say.

Emma turns her face to her slightly, her crying eyes begging hers. She's not sure what for but the skin of Emma's hand is about to break under her teeth and she'll have none of it. She takes Emma's right hand in both hers and pulls.

"Let it go." Emma shakes her head. Even whaling like a little girl. Stubborn.

Regina does something that she's never imagined she would ever allow herself to do. She cups Emma's cheek with her right hand, pulling on Emma's fist with her left and gently tells her, "Come here."

Emma's surprise allows Regina to help her hand out of her mouth and pull her body into her own as she sits on the cold stone floor.

Emma cries, in her chest like a child. Like Henry would when he had these awful nightmares or he had insecurities because he couldn't find her, or one of his heroes died in his books. She cries like the whole world is falling apart around them and maybe it has.

She waits. She caresses Emma's hair, soothing. She doesn't think she'll dare rocking them like she did with Henry. She has no doubt Emma has never been once rocked her whole life. Maybe that needs to change, and so she does. Losing someone you love is something she knows well.

And she says it because maybe she's the only one Emma can allow herself to be weak with. They all think she's some sort of living miracle. "I am sorry he died, Emma. I… you loved him. I understand-"

"You think I am crying because Neal's dead?"

Well, yes. Is she not? "Are you not?"

"It's a difficult loss and… shit I never wanted that for him but… Regina…" Her eyes are looking at her with incredulity, fear, and… anger?

"You think I am sitting here in your lap crying over Neal because I loved him some thirteen years ago?"

"I…" That will teach her to want and help. "Is it Hook, then?" There's a punch to her shoulder, and that freezes her into silence. Emma Swan just punched her. Pretty hard too.

"My mother is having a child. There is a green bitch, who fuck my life, and yours, is your goddamn sister hellbent on killing the whole lot of you. Of us. She has Rumpelstiltskin wrapped around her little finger! She threw you into the fucking clocktower! And she's casting some fucking curse. All over again, Regina."

"I'm aware of that."

Emma is infuriated.

There's another punch to her shoulder. Why is she allowing it?

"And you give your heart, your fucking heart to fucking Robin Hood? Because what? He's got a fucking tattoo on his wrist?

"I don't give a fuck what Tinkerbell says! I have a tattoo too if you want to know," there's the simple form of a flower flashed before her eyes.

"Emma-"

"No! No!" Emma's lip is quivering. "You come to me. I'm no Savior, Regina. We both know that. I'm no Savior without you."

They look at each other for a long time. Fresh tears are slowly running Emma's cheeks. "I'm no Savior without you. You're not Regina without your heart."

She bites her lip. "You gave him your heart and she threw you in the clocktower."

All she can hear is her heart drumming in her chest.

"How am I doing this without you? I just want to run, Regina. Run back to New York with our son and never come back, but… I almost got married to a fucking flying monkey, there's a whole goddamn curse being cast again, my mother is popping a new baby in the next five minutes and… and…"

Emma shoves at her this time, with both her hands. She feels her back bounce a little against the glass but her strength isn't into the physicality at all.

"My life is shit without you... our life is shit without you. And I get here, and you… and Henry and you… you made me pizza and cake and it smells so fucking good, but… but you gave your heart away to stupid Robin Hood! You idiot, idiot, idiot!"

She wants to say that she allowed herself to be slightly influenced by Tinkerbell and that maybe, just maybe hearing that she has a sister- who of course has to be a villain too, because let's face it, nothing coming out of her mother's loins can turn out decent- might have shocked her out of her wits for a moment. Or two.

"I don't want a zombie version of you! I want you! My Regina. Because don't you see? Don't you see that it's you and me?"

Instead she grabs Emma's head and pulls it firmly to her chest.

Emma fights her. Of course. She rolls her eyes and hangs on until she gets it.

"Oh." Emma's arms encircle her chest, she feels hands push her tighter against the side of her face. To Emma's ear. "Your heart? It's beating? Your heart's beating!" Emma looks up with a watery smile and puts her ear back to Regina's breast, squeezing her tightly.

"Yes, Miss Swan. I'm alive, my heart is beating."

The cloth in her hand is made good used of before Emma is looking at her again. This time it's not with a smile or anger. Regina can't really place the emotion. She's not really given the time anyway.

Emma's lips are warm. She's almost feverish; it's the crying. She thinks to herself maybe this isn't the best idea. There's Henry, and Emma is so upset, and yes, yes, she almost gave her heart to Robin Hood.

Emma's lips are warm, and soft, and tenderly caressing hers with soft kisses that aren't forceful or urged or hungry. How does she do that? How does she kiss with such care, such tenderness, like she's touching the most fleeting, delicate, precious treasure she's ever had, only with her lips? Regina knows that Emma is famished. She knows Emma is craving. She knows Emma needs. She knows it like her own.

They're not tentative. They fit. Like their magic does. She kisses, soft but intent. She closes her eyes, deepening the kiss. She moans a little. She'd like more. She wants to taste. Emma parts from her for a sniffle and a deep breath. She can't breathe.

"Sorry." The smile is sheepish on her lips. Regina kisses it, she kisses her sniffling, puffy eyed, salted cheeked idiot all over.

She kisses Emma's forehead but when she thinks of just holding her close, Emma's fingertips touch her. Her cheeks, her throat, the nape of her neck. Her lips are met anew, fervently. Emma tilts her head back gently and kisses her with a tender intensity. They belong. She can't help but open her mouth to Emma's darting tongue. Regina wraps her arms around Emma's body, feeling Emma pressing herself to her.

There's a possessiveness to that kiss. To the moans. To the breathing of each other's air. To the fingers entangled in her hair. To the tongue in her mouth.

"I don't give a shit that he's got a lion tattoo and Tinkerbell is singing his praise or swearing on her fairy wings that he's your soulmate or whatever."

"I have come to realize that I don't either."

"You have?"

"I have."

"'kay." Emma pauses and looks into her eyes like she can't quite grasp the idea that there isn't another shoe about to drop atop her head.

"And you don't ever go on and take your heart out to give it to the first idiot around, a fucking thief too, for safekeeping or some crap like that. Unless it's me. You just leave your heart alone. Right here," Emma places her hand to her chest softly, "where I can hear it. 'kay?"

"Okay."

This is altogether strange, unexpected, and unlike them. Or not.

Emma is very much sitting in her lap. She's holding onto her tightly. Her shirt is ruined between tears and snot. Thank god for the soft hand cloth or she'd be soaked through. They've kissed.

Emma knows how to kiss.

"That's it? Just okay?"

"Yes, Miss Swan, I believe I just agreed to your terms." She smirks a little. "Unless you'd rather I changed them and add mine to yours?" There, better.

"No… like what?" Curiosity killed the cat.

"If you don't get rid of the reeking, fashionless and ever persistent pirate following you around like a lovesick puppy, I will. Permanently."

They belong together. They've always belonged together.

She has an entirely new thought she's not at all ready to look at, but they belong together. Even without Henry.

"Deal."

Emma Swan's smile glows like morning dew caught in the shining light of dawn. She wipes the last couple of tears at the corners of Emma's eyes. There's a full grown tree in her heart. It was one little seed she thought only Henry could nurture, even if it has never been fair to him. Now there's a full grown tree in her heart. Nothing to do with a lion tattoo or fate or… Nothing to do with anything or anyone but the woman in her lap.

"We have to tell Henry, Emma."

Emma sighs, "Everything?"

"Everything."

"'kay."

Emma presses her lips to hers ever so gently. Promise.

"We're going to have to figure this one out together, darling. I'm afraid I can't take her on alone."

"We would, even if you could." Emma looks her seriousness this time. "She's your sister. I'm not letting… that doesn't happen again."

Her heart swells. She's not sure if it's anger, regret or sadness. Maybe all of it at once. Her heart swells. With love.

"Okay." She whispers it.

Emma rests her head against the crook of her neck, her ear still to her chest, lips to her skin.

"I missed you."

"You didn't remember me."

"Do you have the faintest idea how incredible you are?"

"I have no idea what you are talking about, dear."

"I feel you inside me. Every time I do something, remember something that you put there for me, it tastes like you."

"I missed you too."

"Yeah?"

"Don't push it." She kisses the crown of Emma's head.

There's a knock on the side of the kitchen cabinet at the entrance of the room.

"I know you said to wait in the living room," his voice is small. She might have impressed him more than she meant to. That really hurts. "It's been a while, I'm worried about my mom."

"It's quite all right, dear, you can come in." She wonders if they should move or not, but it seems Emma is comfortable where she's at.

He walks over to them and before she can voice her doubts about their state, he's sitting next to her. He has his back against the door, Emma's legs over his and he's leaning into her side.

Her Little Prince. If she's not careful she'll be the one sobbing in no time.

"You okay, Mom?"

"Yeah, Kid, I'm good." Emma takes his hand.

She wants to wrap an arm around him. She doesn't dare.

"So you and Regina, you're together?" That pierces her heart through to the chill in her spine and back. She must have shivered because they both feel it.

Emma's arm around her waist holds her tighter, hand stroking her under the shirt she's pulled slightly.

"Yes, we are."

"I knew it. That's why we're here, right? You guys were together before?"

"No but yes, you know what, Kid? We have a lot to tell you. We need to show you a couple of things and we're going to tell you the truth of why we're here."

"Everything?"

"Everything." Emma smiles at both of them. She ruffles his hair and kisses the corner her mouth. "My ass is falling to sleep and I am starving, so I vote we eat the pizza and share our life stories while we put a serious dent in the most gorgeous smelling birthday cake I've ever had made especially for me. On my birthday too." She gets to her feet. "What do you say?"

"Yeah, all right." He follows up after her. They both extend a hand to her.

They sit at the kitchen island. Before she can give them plates, they've already grabbed slices of the pizza she's rolled cut ahead of time. She'd admonish them but suddenly, with their noises of delight and the laughter that fills her kitchen, she realizes that she's getting her family back. It doesn't matter that Henry doesn't remember yet. He's going to know the truth, he's going to believe. He's going to be hers again.

And Emma. No lion tattoo or fairy dust prophecies. Only love.

She's getting her family back.

* * *

**A/N:** This story is dedicated to Queenderien from Tumblr., who, if you don't know her already, is a great fanart artist in the Swan Queen fandom and who has been lovely enough to put together my cover art for a couple of my stories already.

It so happens that she was born on April 4th and I on April 3rd, which we had no idea about, amusingly enough. I promised her a story to celebrate and thank her, but life got in the way.

Happy belated birthday, dear.

Comme tu le vois, je suis un peu à la bourre. J'espère quand même que tu as eu une fête excellente comme vous dites chez vous, et mon cadeau fait parti du lot, même si en retard.

Tu m'avais demandais une histoire pleine de fluff, je n'ai pas eu trop le cœur, mais je pense que tu devrais y trouver ton bonheur.

Joyeux anniversaire, ma belle.

C.

A warm thanks to Alinaandalion for editing this story for me.

You can find me on Tumblr. paradoxalpoised and on Twitter paradoxalpoised.


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